


The Spatula

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Community: fanfic100
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-05
Updated: 2007-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-10 04:16:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What I call "Unusual POV".  Erm.  Yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spatula

**Author's Note:**

> Season One  
> Written for LJ's Fanfic100 Community  
> Prompt 56: Breakfast

I am crafted from the finest materials. I spent lonely hours crammed into a tiny wooden box, lowly foam chips my only escorts, on a seemingly endless journey from my homeland to the bright and shining lights of America. I am strong. I am indestructible.

I am… The Spatula.

When Brian Kinney removed me carefully from my nest and held me aloft for the first time, I knew that I had truly come home. Here, among the elite, was where I belonged. Perhaps Brian didn't use me much -- or ever. I didn't care. I was affixed to a gleaming steel rod and spent the next year dangling proudly from my perch, surveying the Kinney kingdom.

Then, one day, my companions and I were removed. Tossed haphazardly into the kitchen cabinets. Second drawer from the top. In the dark, above my silent weeping, I could hear the muffled laughter of the imported Italian fixtures. Bitches, all of them. I prayed nightly for a random power surge to wipe them all out in a single blinding flash, to no avail.

Occasionally I would hear the whisper-slide of the drawer above me, and I would allow myself to hope. To dream. Then, eventually, hope began to fade. My companions grew restless. The wire whisk began to droop. The two-pronged fork constructed elaborate plans to commit hara-kiri.

All seemed lost… until He appeared.

He was blond, blue-eyed, impetuous, tenacious, and a little bit smug. His name was Justin. And sweet Jesus, he liked to cook.

I will remember the morning that he pulled me out of that dank, dark drawer as long as I live.

Justin was making scrambled eggs. I nearly purred as he slid me across the smooth surface of the skillet. He was talking all the while, the tip of his tongue peeking out of his mouth in concentration as he alternated between cooking a sumptuous breakfast -- a breakfast I wanted to be the most divine ever created, because I did not want to be relegated back to my gloomy prison -- and teasing Brian.

And then… THEN… Brian grabbed me out of Justin's hand. Pieces of egg went flying everywhere and Justin squealed and ran and Brian chased and everything was a blur. And then… before I knew it… he was using me to… he was using me to…

I am not a paddle, damnit!!!

I am The Spatula! I am wrought of the finest materials! Hand crafted with love and meticulous attention to detail!

And this… this was sick! This was perverted! This was…

This was rather hot, actually.

Hmmm. The coat hangers tell me there's an empty drawer in the bedroom.

The possibilities are _endless_.


End file.
